The Ties That Bind
by Saranel
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the Thousand Year Blood War, they come to discover what it means to rebuild and to move on / Post-Canon, TEF Outtake #1 (can be read as a stand-alone)


**A/N:** (AKA: Thailand-fic) All righty, this is the first in a series of outtakes for TEF. If you've stumbled across this piece without context, chances are some of it may not make much sense, as it's meant to be a part of an ongoing multichapter fic called ' _The Elysian Fallacy.'_ Still, you can read this as a stand-alone if you bear in mind that it takes place after the TYBW arc and assumes Kisuke was never able to heal the injuries sustained in the Askin fight. This story is about the shoten family taking a break before they help rebuild SS and stabilize the situation with the Soul King.

For those of you who already know the background, this takes place in its entirety throughout the second chapter of TEF. The order goes: **Chapter 2 up to (and including) June 26th - this one shot - the rest of Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.**

Smutty scenes aside, this piece is pretty family oriented and offers more insight into Yoruichi's past and her current dilemma. It also delves into how Kisuke deals with his trauma post war. And if he seems a little OOC at times for the better part of this story, a bit less than his usual trolling self, it's deliberate and will be explored.

A note on Jinta and Ururu's respective ages: early on in the series, Ururu states that she's _three years older_ than Jinta. Which… I'm assuming Kubo forgot about completely, because they appear to be roughly the same age both pre and post timeskip. The only way I can make sense of this is by headcanoning that Ururu looks very small for her age and Jinta is a pretty early bloomer. There's also the fact that the series begins in May (and so does the Fullbring arc, ie the first post timeskip arc), making Jinta one month past his birthday (April 4th) and Ururu just a few months shy of hers (September 9th).

So the ages I decided to go with are as follows. Pre timeskip: Jinta had _just_ turned 10 and Ururu was 12, going on 13. Post timeskip: Jinta is 12 and Ururu is 14, going on 15. One added reason I chose these particular ages is that in the Fullbring arc, we see Ururu wearing a middle school uniform, which means she must've been at _least_ 13 by April 2003.

* * *

 **The Ties That Bind**

* * *

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 ** _JUNE 28TH, 2003 A.D., SHIHŌIN CLAN ANCESTRAL CASTLE, COURT OF PURE SOULS, SOUL SOCIETY_**

.

She is already starting to regret this.

Part of her wants to place the blame on Kisuke. When she approached him a few days ago before their departure for Karakura to discuss the possibility of Yūshirō visiting, the utter _sap_ agreed without a moment's pause, beaming at her. But she cannot in good conscience fault him for staying true to who he is – _Soft as butter and that damn **smile**_ \- she needs to accept the blame for asking his opinion in the first place. As if he would've said anything but yes.

No, the fault lies _entirely_ with her, for allowing her emotions to get the better of her.

Yūshirō is fine, after all. No permanent injuries, no trauma to put a dent on his ever-enthusiastic outlook in life. The little dork is just as optimistic as ever, just as big of an idiot as ever – _Breaking formation to traipse right into the middle of the battlefield in a misguided attempt to rescue **me**._

He is fine.

Perfectly fine.

Not to mention _late_. When he bounded upstairs to get ready, he promised her he would be back in five minutes, and it is now _precisely_ — Yoruichi blinks at the jade, ornate clock perched atop the cabinet by the wall. _That… can't be right._ It can't have been only one minute and twenty seconds.

Right across from her on the chabudai sits her mother, the very picture of poise and grace, cradling her teacup with her slim fingers, her back ramrod-straight. Blowing gently against the surface of the steaming beverage, she takes a dainty sip and sets the cup down again, folding her hands on the lap of her resplendent golden kimono. A stunning, delicate flower, true to her name.

From the moment she awakens to the moment she retires to bed at night, Lady Shihōin Hana conducts herself in a manner befitting someone who is not only constantly watched, but strictly graded as well.

Which, to be fair, is not far removed from the truth.

Not for the first time in her life, Yoruichi feels as if she is staring before a mirror depicting an alternate universe, in which she never resisted her etiquette lessons and grew up to become the perfect picture of a lady. Her resemblance to her mother has always been uncanny, her only distinguishable traits being her lighter skin and black hair, as opposed to her mother's rich chestnut brown.

 _Three minutes and twenty-five seconds. Hurry up, kid. Before she—_

"So. This… Karakura Town."

 _…Dammit._

"Yes?" Yoruichi says, doing her utmost to stifle a touch of wariness from her tone, and reaching for her cup in want of something to occupy her hands with.

"What is it like?" her mother asks.

"Er… Normal, I guess? It's still a city, but nothing like Tokyo proper," Yoruichi says. "Less hustle and bustle, no skyscrapers, more of a suburban feel." She realizes a little too late that none of this means anything to her mother; she has never set foot outside of the Seireitei, much less Soul Society, but it would take a hell or a lot more time than they have to provide a proper explanation.

Perhaps thinking along the same lines, her mother does not question any of this and merely moves the conversation along. "And you mentioned you live in a… shop, was it?"

She might've used a less weighted tone if she were speaking of a brothel.

"Yes, it's a shop," Yoruichi says, taking a sip of tea and nearly scalding her tongue in the process. "We live above the premises."

" _We_. That would be you and…?"

"Kisuke and Tessai. You _know_ all of this already," Yoruichi says, her temper rising. "And Ururu and Jinta."

At this, her mother arches one fine eyebrow. "And they are?"

"The kids. I _know_ I've mentioned them before."

Yoruichi suspects that if her mother were holding her teacup at that moment, she may have dropped it in shock. Eyes widening, she stares at her daughter with astonishment written all over her face. "No, I… I am fairly certain I would've remembered that."

"I don't know what to tell you, I _have_ mentioned them."

Far too well bed to allow her mask to slip for longer than a few seconds, her mother deftly schools her expression into a more neutral one. "So you… you have children," she says in a deliberately calm voice, though Yoruichi doesn't miss the slight tremble in her jaw.

Her autobiographical memory has never failed her; she remembers every little detail about growing up in this house, and it all comes flooding back to her in the span of a single breath. And despite her near-constant impatience with her mother, Yoruichi feels an irrational surge of guilt at the look in her eyes, at the implication that she could have started a family without ever letting her parents know. "They're not… _mine_! They're the shop assistants."

"Oh." Relief washes over her mother's face, and she falls back into her usual poise at once. Oddly enough, there is even a strange glint of approval in her eyes as she goes on to say, "I see. Well, you never said they were _children_. So they're your servants."

Just like that, any lingering sentiment of guilt evaporates into thin air. "Wha—? _No_! They're… we…" Yoruichi struggles to find the words that best explain who exactly Ururu and Jinta are to them, to _her_ , but every definition she manages to come up with feels either too presumptuous or inadequate. "We take care of them. They just… started out as shop assistants."

A familiar expression draws itself upon her mother's features, one of maddening superiority, a vindicated smirk that bears a disconcerting similarity to Kisuke's. "So… You have children."

"You know what? Fine, whatever," Yoruichi snaps, throwing her hands up. "We have children. Make of that what you will."

"You expect me to allow Yūshirō to visit you without knowing what kind of environment he'll be living in? It's what a mother _does_ , Yoruichi, she takes care of her family—"

"What _environment_? He already knows Kisuke and Tessai. And the kids are his age. The human equivalent anyway. You're making it sound like I live in a crack den."

"A _what_?"

Shaking her head, Yoruichi buries her lips behind the rim of her teacup, muttering, "Never mind."

 _Two minutes and fifty three seconds._

"And what are your plans for this visit?"

"Ritual sacrifice, brainwashing, maybe getting him to run around with scissors…"

Her mother rolls her eyes, ever-so daintily. "Yes, very amusing—"

"Just… hang out. Show him around town," Yoruichi says, in an effort to cut off a renewed lecture before it even begins. "I have no plans to seduce him over to the dark side if that's what you're worried about; he's coming back, safe and sound, in a couple of weeks."

"You didn't."

It is the difference in tone that plunges Yoruichi into stunned silence.

Ever since returning to her ancestral home only a few months ago, whatever conversations she's managed to have with her parents have been strained at best, barely even qualifying as conversations to begin with. Beneath every word, every look, there is a constant undercurrent of bitterness, and she can only imagine what it must've been like, for two people as proud as her parents to have had to live with the stigma of a presumed traitor for a daughter.

This is the first time she has ever been given any indication that her absence brought something other than shame to them, that she has been missed by someone other than Yūshirō in this household.

She cannot even find it in her to summon up a witty retort as she spares a glance at her mother, at the small, but perceptible chip in her perfect mask. She supposes it's a good thing that Yūshirō comes sprinting into the room at that precise moment, breathless; she wouldn't have even known where to begin.

Visibly relieved by the distraction as well, her mother rises up elegantly on her feet, approaching the panting Yūshirō and running her fingers through his wayward hair. "Did you say goodbye to your father?"

Yūshirō sits perfectly still for the inspection of his clothes and duffel bag. "Yes, mother."

"Good. Have a pleasant… vacation."

Yūshirō is already talking a mile a minute as they reach the threshold of the tea room, but Yoruichi is only half-listening, her gaze locked with her mother's.

And for once, the mirror-like reflection before her eyes bears more than a superficial resemblance.

.

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 ** _JUNE 28TH, 2003 A.D., URAHARA SHOP TRAINING GROUNDS, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN_**

.

"Wow, he looks just like you, only without… the… uh, longer hair."

Jinta's comment earns him a soft whack upside the head by Tessai. The innuendo, however, seems to be lost on Yūshirō, who accepts this description as a compliment of the highest order.

Ururu, as expected, is a little more withdrawn. She greets Yūshirō politely with a hint of reservation, her wide, deep blue eyes unsure of what to make of him. Yoruichi recognizes the look at once, having found herself on the receiving end of it nearly two years ago.

The attention renders Yūshirō far more flustered than she's ever seen him. A person as generous with his smiles and conversation as any she's ever met, he makes for an odd picture when standing so close to her, his eyes downcast and cheeks flushed. Not for the first time, Yoruichi feels a sharp pang of guilt at the thought that this is most likely one of the few times in his life he's ever been allowed to socialize with people his age.

Making a good impression as the apple-cheeked heir of the Shihōin clan to adults who are predisposed to treat him with kindness –or _else_ \- is all he's ever known. Making actual friends with teenagers who couldn't care less about his illustrious heritage is brand new territory for him.

It is a feeling she can understand and sympathize with to some degree. Her memories of a life before Kisuke arrived in court are hazy, worn around the edges by time, but not entirely forgotten. She knows what it's like to be treated like porcelain, admired and appreciated from a distance both literal and figurative. By virtue of a different character and sheer luck, she was able to make the best out of a difficult situation, but Yūshirō hasn't been as fortunate. The Shihōin Clan never makes the same mistake twice: her little brother had been doomed to an even more sheltered existence by virtue of the sins of his predecessor.

Kisuke's eye flits over to hers momentarily, and she knows he can read her like an open book. With an easy smile, he steps forward to diffuse the tension by offering Yūshirō a tour of the shop.

Falling in step behind them, Yoruichi can't help but grin when Yūshirō whispers, in a voice just loud enough for Kisuke to hear, "Is all of Japan a desert landscape like Karakura?"

Yūshirō's mood seems to improve exponentially once he realizes the underground facility bears little resemblance to the actual landscape of the town, and instead finds things to be excited and perplexed about in every single room. When the television proves to be a little too exciting for him to handle, Yoruichi swoops in to provide a natural break for him to process everything at his own pace.

"Come on, I'll show you where you can unpack."

Yūshirō follows her readily, his pack swinging behind his back as he trots up the stairs. "Will I be rooming with you, nee-sama?"

It might've been a little kinder to arrange it thus, but she knows full well that unless he's given a gentle push to spend some time with the kids on his own, he's _never_ going to be leaving her side for the duration of his stay.

"Er… no. You'll be sleeping in Ururu and Jinta's room," she says. "That okay?"

"Oh…" Yūshirō says, his disappointment evident despite his best efforts to conceal it. Thankfully for her, the need to please has been deeply ingrained within him since childhood, and he recovers quickly. "Sure!"

"Would you rather room with Tessai? I just figured you'd prefer someone closer to your age."

Yūshirō looks like he's tempted to accept, but after a moment of deliberation, he shakes his head. "No, no, it's all right; they seem nice."

As they come up to the second floor landing, Yūshirō's eyes are immediately drawn to the signs hanging over either room: Jinta and Ururu's, and at the end of the corridor, hers and Kisuke's bedroom.

"That's Kisuke-san's room?" he says.

Much like she does at least twice every month, Yoruichi rolls her eyes at the ridiculous sign reading 'Kisuke's Castle' – _"But Yoruichi-san! Where does a Princess belong if not in a cas— Okay, **okay**! I'm sorr—"_

"Yes. And this is where the kids sleep," she says, pulling the shōji apart.

As she makes her way to the closet to fetch a futon for him, Yūshirō lingers by the door, his wide eyes taking in everything: the small television; the stacks of manga dominating the shelves on Ururu's side; the kotatsu sitting in the middle of the room; Jinta's baseball paraphernalia.

"So where do _you_ sleep, nee-sama?"

Pausing in the middle of unrolling the futon, Yoruichi glances up, her shoulders growing stiff. "…..Hmm?"

"Tessai-san's room is downstairs. This is Jinta-san and Ururu-san's room. Next door is Kisuke-san's. Where do you sleep?"

Making a beeline back for the closet to retrieve some clothes for him, Yoruichi tries to pick her wording with care. She knew this was bound to come up sooner or later, but quite frankly, there is little in life she's looking _less_ forward to than discovering just how much of the _Eel and the Cave_ talk her mother has given Yūshirō by this point.

Not that she's unsympathetic to the sheer agony of enduring that one-sided lecture, but it's an awkward rite of passage she has already gone through once herself. "Er… Well… y'know… here and there. Wherever. Mostly…" She points vaguely in the direction of the room next door.

"But where do you keep your personal effects?"

Holding out an Urahara Shop t-shirt before her, Yoruichi busies herself with mentally gauging the size. "Next door."

"At Kisuke-san's?"

"Mmm."

Though he says nothing for a while, Yoruichi can feel Yūshirō's eyes on her, and when she meets them tentatively, he looks completely and utterly baffled. In response, she arches both eyebrows, trying to silently prod the slow-moving gears in his head along.

At long last, Yūshirō's eyes grow very round, his entire face flushing. "Oh! Ohhhh…."

"Thank the heavens…" Yoruichi mutters under her breath, ambling over to drop a pair of jeans, socks and a t-shirt on Yūshirō's futon.

"Wait, nee-sama— Are you and Kisuke-san _married_? I didn't see—"

 _Oh boy…_ "No, we're not _married_. You'd know if we were."

 _Probably. Most likely._

 _…Maybe._

Yūshirō now seems to be struggling with concepts that challenge his entire upbringing, namely an unmarried couple sharing a room. "But he is… a suitor?" he asks, head tilted to the side, not unlike a puppy regarding a strange sight.

Letting out a sigh, Yoruichi is already beginning to rue the moment she didn't just play along and agree to room with him. "Good grief… It doesn't work that way anymore, Yūshirō. At least not here. He's not my _suitor_ , we're just—"

"Affianced?"

"Together. Are we _quite_ done?"

The moment he shrinks back on himself, she immediately regrets snapping at him. "Sorry, nee-sama."

It's been a long time since her and Kisuke's bond required justification to anyone, but the reaction is so deeply ingrained into her that it slips out without a second's hesitation. Family, friends, colleagues and even strangers would always make inquiries into the nature of their relationship, long before there was any reason for suspicion, and it's a question she's had to answer more times than she can count.

Deflecting attempts to penetrate the veil of privacy she has always shrouded her personal life with is instinct by now. One that is challenging to suppress, but she tries to remind herself that Yūshirō's inquiry comes from a place of genuine interest rather than indiscretion. More importantly, it's not his fault he's led such a sheltered life and has difficulty grasping the kind of freedom that exists in hers.

She tries not to think _too_ hard about whose fault it truly is.

"That's okay," Yoruichi says, schooling her expression into something softer, more approachable. "Clothes should be your size. Get changed and come downstairs when you're ready."

Yūshirō holds his tongue until she's at the door, and even when he does speak, his tone gives her the impression that he's about to utter something he's been holding on to for a long time. "Nee-sama?"

Yoruichi pauses by the threshold, one hand on the shōji frame. "Hmm?"

"Is that why you left? So you could be with Kisuke-san?"

It is a feeling unlike any she's ever experienced, the sensation of her insides going into free-fall while she remains standing, her fingers unconsciously digging into the old wood.

Yūshirō must notice the change in her eyes, or the shift in her reiatsu, as his cheeks turn an even deeper red and he tears his gaze away, over to his wringing hands. "I… I remember things. Every now and then. He had a house in the Rukongai, didn't he?" he says in a quiet voice, daring to make tentative eye-contact once more.

"I remember you taking me there sometimes. And then the three of us going out to the marketplace, usually during festivals. Sometimes Suì-Fēng and Kuchiki Byakuya would come along. You wore a yellow kimono with wisteria blossoms, and Kisuke-san would buy me sweet plum kakigōri and cherry for you, and you'd laugh when it stained your lips red."

It's Yoruichi's turn to look away, hand now grasping the frame in earnest, the sudden onslaught of memories washing over her with the force of a tsunami.

She _does_ remember. Far better than Yūshirō –barely out of toddlerhood at the time- ever could.

Those nine years she spent living in the Rukongai with Kisuke are forever written with indelible ink, imprinted in spaces that are untouchable by the cruel hand of time. She remembers it all: the easy, natural way she grew to call the Rukongai cottage a home; the maple tree in the back yard; the simple joy of a haven where she could be no more or less than herself; the beautiful disharmony of his anatomy tomes blended in with her cheap, silly adventure novels on the shelves; winding down at night by the fireplace, bundled up in a pair of arms and a careworn yukata, one of Hirako's soft jazz records lulling them to sleep.

Mostly, she remembers what it felt like to make dreams for the future.

She remembers what it felt like when she'd drag a sullen Byakuya along with them on the occasional outing, Suì-Fēng at her heels, Yūshirō's hand cradled in Kisuke's. She remembers what it felt like when they were mistaken –more than once- for a family, the hilarious outrage in Suì-Fēng's face when she was complimented for having 'her father's eyes.'

"They're just images and I wasn't certain they were even real, for the longest time," Yūshirō goes on. "But now they're starting to make sense."

The silence on her end stretches on as she considers Yūshirō's question: why _did_ she leave?

The answer is far more complicated than she could ever put to words, far more complicated than the simple fact that yes, she wasn't ready to watch Kisuke disappear from her life, nor did she think she ever would be. He understands freedom better than anyone she has ever known, but more importantly, he understands what freedom means to _her_.

"I'm not… I'm not sad about you leaving anymore," Yūshirō says. "I mean, I _am_ sometimes, but… you smiled more back then. When we were there. So… if that is the reason you left… I am glad."

Yoruichi's throat suddenly swells with a feeling she cannot name or pin down, and it takes her a long time before she can open her mouth with any degree of certainly that he voice will not come out weak and fractured. "Unpack your stuff and get changed," she says, ending the discussion, though taking care to speak without rancor. "We're going out for pizza in a bit."

"What's peet-tsa?"

"You'll find out," Yoruichi says with a grin, then pulls the door shut behind her.

There is no escaping her past today, it seems, her long-buried guilt rising from the grave to seep into the very walls, demanding to be acknowledged after a century of dormancy.

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 ** _JUNE 30TH, 2003 A.D., URAHARA SHOP, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN_**

.

He has always found there to be a certain serenity in fixing things.

Life always seems simpler when solving a tangible problem, his worries melting away, withdrawing into the farthest reaches of his mind. He is his mother's son in that respect, all laser-like focus and a sheer determination that knows neither hunger, nor thirst, nor fatigue. His work always fills him with a sense of kinship, a sense of being connected to her in ways that go beyond mere nature and nurture.

On his better days, he has been told he wears a faint, but constant smile on his lips as he pores over a complex system, poking and prodding at its defenses until he figures out the how, the why.

Today is not one such day.

He knows it instinctively, the moment his breath catches in his lungs and the tip of the tweezers in his hand falters. Jaw set, nose nearly touching the magnifying lens of the soldering stand, he wills his hand to still and moves it slower, slower—

With a sharp groan of pain, Kisuke drops the tweezers as the right side of his field of vision is assaulted by an onslaught of bright, red flashes. Teeth gnashing together, he is one second away from sweeping his arm over the workbench and scattering it all to the floor, but he stays his hand, redirecting it instead to trace the piece of gauze covering the space once occupied by his right eye.

For want of something to vent his frustration upon, he knocks the chair down as he rises to his feet and starts pacing the room, hand still clasped over the patch.

More than anything, it is being trapped in this vicious circle that is driving him mad. There is work to be done, work that cannot wait, but where the mind is willing, the flesh keeps failing him over and over again. The wound is far too fresh, his system still in too much disarray, struggling to reform new bridges to replace the ones burnt to the ground. He cannot recover fast enough without a replacement, and he cannot thrust this project into foreign hands, not with everything else that needs to be done.

And the clock keeps ticking.

 _Rest_ , they said, _recover from your injuries_ , the implication being that the answer is only just out of reach, and won't he take his time and recharge first? The world will still be there, in one piece, waiting for him to dexterously unravel the tangled web spun over millennia by clumsy, irresponsible hands.

Because that's what he does; he fixes things.

Once, when he was still a young boy, Tessai had lectured him on his impatience, on his tendency to fall apart at the seams when the answer proves to be too elusive for too long. But this is not a pet project, a personal whim, and every second wasted away is a second this world cannot spare, this fragile, volatile bundle of dread and hope and dream, barreling straight through—

"Bad time?"

Shoulders seizing up, Kisuke pulls his face away from his cupped palms to blink at the wall across him. Eye shifting to the door, he finds Jinta standing by the threshold, giving him the kind of wary look usually reserved for toddlers throwing a monumental tantrum. And with good reason: Kisuke cannot deny he might have been sporting a similar expression if he had stumbled into someone crouched down on the floor, muttering incoherencies into the curve of their joined hands.

"Jinta! I— No, just… Taking a break, thinking," Kisuke mutters, forcing a lax smile onto his face as he rises up to full height. "Everything all right?"

Arms folded behind his back, Jinta takes a cautious step into the study, a glorified storage room he has fashioned over the years into his personal lab, of sorts. "Just came to warn you Tessai is sniffing around to check everyone's packed," he says.

"Well—" Kisuke says, glancing at the wall-mounted clock: 6:13 pm. "—we _are_ leaving in just about thirteen hours. There won't be time to do it in the morning. I take it you haven't packed yet?" he adds, amusement curling his lips upward.

"Have _you_?"

Truth be told, he's been trying to come up with an excuse to personally forgo the trip altogether since morning. But no excuse he can come up with ends in any scenario other than Yoruichi mauling him and Ururu bursting into tears. "…I will," he says. "Soon."

"Mmmm-hm." Now sauntering inside with far less trepidation, Jinta comes to stand by his workbench, hands in the pockets of his shorts. "What are you making?"

Kisuke's gaze follows Jinta's, landing onto the desktop littered with soldering tools, a small pile of blank circuit boards and a clear, plastic bag bulging with capacitors, integrated circuits and a number of other components. Jinta leans forward on tiptoes to glance through the magnifying lens, and onto the half-finished board that tested his patience earlier, still clamped in place onto the soldering stand by the small, metallic pincers.

"A prototype," Kisuke says.

"Forrrrr…?"

Chuckling, Kisuke ambles over to his side, arms folded before his chest. "You can hide out here; the offer of sanctuary does not come with a condition of expressing an interest in my work."

"I wasn't looking for— I'm just— Ururu and Yoruichi-san are playing Mario Kart, and Tessai's crowing about how Yūshirō has been packed since _morning_ – like, _whatever_ , all _he_ had to do was take the clothes out of the shopping bags and toss them into a suitcase, of course he was done in like five seconds—" Rolling back and forth on the balls of his heels, Jinta glances up at him with uncharacteristic reluctance. "You not busy?"

"Well I'm certainly not finishing this today," Kisuke says, gesturing at the circuit board. "I was just tinkering. If we get caught, we'll say you were helping me and we can pack after dinner."

He's not exactly looking forward to the prospect any more than Jinta is, but the brief mental image of what the Shihōin Clan might have to say, if they ever learn their precious heir traipsed around the mortal world decked out in discount H&M clothing has significantly lifted his spirits.

"'Kay. When you pack later, you can add this, I guess. If you want," Jinta says, swiftly yanking one hand out of his pocket and shoving something small and black into Kisuke's unsuspecting hands. Before he even has time to blink, Jinta has moved closer to the workbench, eyes locked upon the half-finished work. "So what _is_ this prototype thing?"

He's about to answer, when he unfolds the small bundle in his hands and finds that his voice refuses to come out. Mouth growing slack, Kisuke stares at the eye-patch in his hands as a nameless, overwhelming sensation blossoms into being in his chest. There is no mistaking the neat, delicate stitching: his thumb brushes over the white 'Ura' kanji embroidered against the ink black background, and he knows at once this is Tessai's work. But something about the blush that creeps up Jinta's neck until his ears glow red tells him Tessai must've had help.

Jinta is still staring resolutely at the prototype, shoulders and spine rigid as a board, visibly aware of Kisuke's gaze on him.

"It's… I'm, uh… making a prosthetic," Kisuke says. "If all goes as planned, it should restore my eyesight fully."

When realization dawns on him, Jinta he swivels around to face Kisuke, a crease between his brows. "You're making a—? Right. Well… yeah, of course you would. Good, that's… Then you don't need—"

Lifting the eye-patch out of Jinta's wandering grasp, Kisuke looks down at him, his expression softening. "No, I think I'll keep this," he says. "It's a big aesthetic improvement over the gauze, at any rate. And I assure you, I will be needing it."

Jinta frowns at him, his hand still outstretched. "You _just_ said—"

"A fully functioning prosthetic will require a constant, generous stream of reiatsu," Kisuke says. "I can't keep it up for longer than a few hours without exhausting myself. It'll be handy for work, but for most of the day—" Feeling it's now safe to lower his hand, he openly examines the eye-patch, fingers tracing the soft material. "—I will be wearing this."

Dropping his gaze and hand, Jinta seems to be having trouble articulating a response. His eyes flit across the room, lips pursed into a tight line, until something on the workbench captures his attention. "That thing is bigger than a matchbox," he says, frowning at the circuit board. "How are you supposed to… fit it…?" He trails off with a grimace, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Kisuke's face.

"I'm not," Kisuke says in response, grinning. "I need a working prototype first before I can even think about shrinking it down. Besides, I don't exactly have the equipment to do it here. But I can get it made back at the SRDI, once I settle on the blueprints."

"Soooo… is it gonna do any… cool stuff?"

"Cool stuff? You mean cooler than fully restoring my binocular vision, a feat that should, by all rights, be impossible within the boundaries and constraints of contemporary technology?" The response takes Jinta by surprise, a glimmer of guilt blooming in his dark brown gaze. "Yeah, of course."

Kisuke's chuckles are met with a roll of Jinta's eyes, but the boy gets over the joke made at his expense quickly enough.

"Getting the resolution up to snuff will be the biggest hurdle. Anything after that is just icing."

"So, like… you could theoretically get better resolution in the prosthetic?"

"Better than real life? No, not really," Kisuke says.

"Why not? You keep going on and on about how technology is getting better every year."

"True, but—" Kisuke points at his left, intact eye. "—Analog—" He points at the circuit board next. "—Digital."

His explanation is met with a completely blank stare, but he figures getting into the specifics is probably a futile venture.

"Remind me to adopt a more hands-on approach in your education once we get back from Thailand," he tells Jinta. "At any rate, forget the resolution, first I need to get it to work period. Better yet, get it _built_."

"Why, what's the problem?"

With a soft, slightly rueful grin, Kisuke says, "I'm afraid my coordination has suffered somewhat after… In the aftermath."

Rather uncharacteristically, Jinta falls silent, giving him a solemn nod. It's not an altogether surprising reaction, however. Contrary to Ururu, who brushed over the injury as though it had never even taken place, Kisuke has caught Jinta staring more than once. He expected to read a number of emotions in the boy's eyes, anything from plain curiosity down to revulsion. Anything but the concern he found reflected there.

"Ah well," Kisuke says, eager to change the subject. "I _am_ getting better at it, it just takes time."

Quietly, in a voice that is barely a whisper, Jinta says, "Could I do it? If you… give me instructions and stuff?"

To say that he is taken aback by the offer would be an understatement. The longer he allows the silence to stretch on, the more Jinta begins to regret the words he blurted out, and so Kisuke forces himself to move the conversation along.

"I… don't know," he says. "Let's see. Hold out your hands."

Jinta does as he's told, a certain amount of trepidation notwithstanding.

His hands are small, not only in comparison to an adult's, but in proportion to his body. Whatever dexterity he may lack, his shorter digits should make up for it adequately enough, on top of the steadiness he has developed over years of playing baseball.

Beckoning him over, Kisuke pulls out a stool for him from under the workbench and picks up his fallen chair. Over the course of the next few minutes, Jinta proves himself to be perfectly up to the task, if a little slow due to inexperience, but a quick study. Slowly, steadily, they begin to assemble the circuit board component by component, and by the third repetition, Jinta feels comfortable enough to proceed without instruction.

For the first time in many days, Kisuke catches himself smiling once more as he works, every now and then running his fingers over the eye-patch in his pocket. He decides not to let Jinta know that he is well aware he finished packing hours ago.

.

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.

 ** _JULY 2ND, 2003 A.D., KOH JUM, KRABI, THAILAND_**

.

The moment the small craft reaches dry land, Jinta flies out to the shore and drops down on the beach, closely followed by Ururu and Yūshirō.

"Is it _over_?" he says in a long suffering voice, fingers digging into the sand. "Are we _there_?"

Shaking her head, Yoruichi pushes herself off the edge of the craft, sandals held in one hand. A splash of cool water washes over her shins and she makes her way out of the shallow waters onto the beach to assure them that _yes_ , they've finally reached their destination.

Part of her longs for the days when she would go off on a journey completely unencumbered by luggage and loudly complaining children. Not that she can entirely blame them: the eight-hour-long flight from Narita, to Hong Kong and over to Phuket was taxing enough, leaving them with barely enough energy to enjoy downtown Phuket for a sole night. Morning had found them scrambling to make the ferry to Krabi Town, and from there, the small craft that had brought them to Koh Jum at long last.

Still, the new arrangement is not entirely without its merits. Reliving the experience through their eyes and uninhibited enthusiasm, she gains a new appreciation for the sights, even if it means having to put up with their impatience every now and then.

Thailand is a destination she finds herself returning to at least once every few years, after first setting foot here in the seventies and falling in love with the landscape, the people, the cuisine. From Chiang Rai to Songkhla, she has traversed the length of the land, weaving through the marketplaces in Bangkok, counting stalactites in Khao Luang, traipsing up the less trodden dirt paths spiralling around the peak of Phu Chi Fa.

Koh Jum is one of the few places that still reminds her of the Thailand she first explored decades ago, and whatever theatrics they might be pulling now, she knows the kids will come to appreciate its raw beauty. The island's character more than makes up for the long journey, and after five and a half days of swimming, snorkelling, exploring, tanning and devouring mounds of delicious food, she's certain they'll be singing a different tune come departure day.

The narrow beach they've disembarked upon stretches on as far as the eye can see, curving around the green island like a serpent. There are more impressive beaches to be found in the vicinity, with white, powder-fine sand, but the small, private beach spreading out before the modest resort is graced with waters no less crystalline.

As they make their way across the coarse sand, luggage in hand, the captain of the craft and owner of the resort waxes rhapsodic about the many virtues of Koh Jum and his establishment. The mangrove thickets transition into a lush, tropical forest as they reach the edge of the mountain slope, where they're greeted by the sight of the resort itself: a smattering of wooden bungalows on stilts, burrowed deep into the greenery, almost a natural extension of the forest itself.

Narrow, stove-paved paths weave throughout the resort and up the hill, a colourful mosaic at their feet as the owner guides them over to their personal bungalow. Yoruichi shares a grin with Tessai as the kids—having long ago stopped complaining- and are now engaged in hushed, excited whispering that complements the natural sounds of the forest.

Their bungalow is one of the biggest in the resort, big enough to comfortably house a party of six, with three spacious rooms. No sooner has the owner handed the keys over to Kisuke, than the kids start darting around the small house in a frenzy, calling out to each other when they've made a new discovery: from the deck out front that overlooks the beach, to the mosquito nets draped over the beds.

"HAMMOCK, THERE'S A _HAMMOCK_ OUT ON THE BALCONY I CALL THE ROOM WITH THE HAMMOCK!"

"You can't just _call_ a room!"

"Uh, yes, I can, and I just _did_."

"Nee-sama, I don't mind where I sleep so can I just go for a walk? I think I saw monkeys out on the trees—"

"You're not being fair—"

"Okay, _fine_ , you can share a room with me; I get the bed, and you can, like, lay a beach towel on the floor. In a corner. If you promise to be quiet."

"Nee-sama, _pleaaaaaaaase_?"

"I'm not rooming with you, no way!"

"Then no hammock for _you_. Yūshirō, it's your lucky day, you get to share—"

"Okay, okay, settle down, please!" Kisuke says with a sigh, raising his voice above the din and clapping his hands together. "No-one is sleeping on the _floor_ , we can work this out—"

"Yoruichi-san, we're rooming together, right?" Ururu says, sidling up to her and pinning her down with a clear blue, beseeching gaze.

"Er…" Yoruichi says, her eyes seeking out Kisuke's, and they seem to be thinking along the same lines: this wasn't exactly how they had foreseen events unfolding.

But Ururu is at an age where she's not comfortable sharing a room with a man. Sharing with Jinta would likely result in Jinta getting pulverized once he pushes his own luck one time to many, and Yūshirō, whom she seems to like well enough, is still a relative stranger.

Kisuke's stare softens as he gives her an imperceptible shrug and a resigned smile. She knows he's also thinking of the tantalizingly promising master bedroom, with the soft double bed, the separate bathroom and the private little balcony, and she allows herself to entertain the fleeting fantasy for one moment longer, before it pops like a soap bubble when Ururu yanks her back to reality.

"Yoruichi-san?"

"Sure thing," Yoruichi says, patting her on the shoulder. "We'll take the master bedroom, then."

Jinta splutters at her declaration, clearly unwilling to go down without a fight. "WHAT. _NO_! I CALLED THE HAMMOCK—"

"The ladies are taking the master bedroom, Jinta-dono," Tessai says, in a voice that doesn't leave room for negotiation. "You and Yūshirō-dono can take the east room."

"If the hammock means that much to you, we can ask the owner for an extra one," Yoruichi says. "And set it up out on the deck. Deal?"

Arms wound before his chest, Jinta shuffles the wooden panelled floor with his flip-flop, pouting. "Deal."

"Good. You can go track him down then and set it up yourself later," Yoruichi says, before she shoulders her bag and beckons Ururu to follow.

"Nee-samaaaaaaa, can I go see the monkeyyyyys?"

"I want lunch first, I'm _starving_ —"

"Ohhh, me, too," Ururu says, glancing up at Yoruichi.

"—you realize we haven't eaten since _breakfast_? And if you want me to set up the hammock, I need _sustenance_. Even kids in _sweatshops_ get fed _eventually_ —"

In between Yūshirō's continued pleas, Jinta's cries about child labor laws and Ururu's excited yelps to come check out the glistening bathroom of their shared mini-suite, Yoruichi can feel her patience reaching a critical, all-time low.

An artificial, manic grin straining her cheeks, she turns to Kisuke. "I'm _so happy_ we decided to do this," she tells him in a low whisper through gritted teeth.

 _Only five days to go._

Quite frankly, she'd sooner face another Quincy invasion.

.

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.

 ** _JULY 4TH, 2003 A.D., KOH JUM RESORT, KRABI, THAILAND_**

.

"It's not infected, is it, nee-sama?"

Swatting away a curious Yūshirō hovering over her shoulder, Yoruichi examines Ururu's sole carefully. The girl's leg shakes in her hands, and Ururu bites down on her lip to keep from laughing at the ticklish sensation, with minimal success.

"Nope, she's fine," Yoruichi says, declaring her urchin-spine-free and fit for kayaking, much to the kids' delight.

"Can we go then?" Yūshirō says in a rush, his eyes alight. "Renting hours are over at seven and there's always a line and if we don't go now we might miss—"

"Go, go," Yoruichi says with a sigh, plopping Ururu's straw fedora on top of the girl's head.

Already dressed and rearing to go nearly an hour ago, Jinta drags Tessai to the door, closely followed by Ururu and Yūshirō. Ururu pauses at the door, her hand linked with Yūshirō's as he tugs her toward the exit. "Yoruichi-san, aren't you and Kisuke-san coming?"

It's highly tempting to flat-out say no and leave no room for discussion, but she figures she might as well play it safe, hoping the kids will be too excited about the prospect of kayaking to feel like waiting for them.

"I'll go check if he's up for it," she says. "You guys head down to the rental place and I'll let you know."

Ururu and Yūshirō thunder down the wooden stairway to join Jinta and Tessai, sprinting down the path leading to the beach. Chuckling, Yoruichi closes the door and flattens herself against it, taking a moment to bask in the wonder that is their _silent_ bungalow.

With a smile and a lazy stretch, she sets off in search of Kisuke. She finds him out into the deck, lounging on Jinta's hammock with a book in hand. Leaning against the threshold, she watches in silence as his eye leaves the pages every now and then to take in the vibrant pinks and dusty mauves of the afternoon sky, a beatific smile on his lips.

He would've made for a beautiful spectacle if he wasn't wearing an eye-wateringly yellow, garish Hawaiian shirt. At the very least, the color brings out his tan, something not even he has managed to escape acquiring after a full three days in Thailand, though not for a lack of trying. His complexion is now a warmer, tawny beige color, but he's fought it the whole way through, tooth and nail, his disposition as well-matched to the beach as oil is to water.

The wooden panels creak under her bare feet as she ambles forward, and Kisuke turns in her direction to regard her with a soft smile.

"Tessai and the kids headed down to the kayak rental," she says.

Kisuke snaps his book shut and sets it onto the side table. "You're not joining them?" he says, shifting into a seating position until each leg dangles off the side of the hammock.

"Thought I might join you instead," she says, and right as she straddles his lap with a smirk worthy of the cat who caught the canary, the hammock unexpectedly lurches to the side.

Chuckling, Kisuke plants his feet against the deck to steady the hammock, wrapping his arms around her. "Hey."

Teeth catching her lower lip, Yoruichi scoots forward, her bared thighs sliding against his canvas shorts until they meet his pelvis. "Hey yourself," she says, fingers traveling up his shirt to find purchase against his shoulders.

Hovering an inch away, he returns her smirk, but lays perfectly still, his hands frustratingly static on her waist. She wishes he would relocate them to southern pastures, and she's about to tell him as much, when he withdraws one arm completely and brings it up to brush a tendril of hair away from her face.

"Not a good idea," he says.

Not willing to concede quite so easily, Yoruichi presses herself flush against him. "You don't know what I'm thinking about."

Kisuke arches a knowing eyebrow at her. "Nice in theory, probably horrible in practice without any… leverage. Plus, no structural integrity whatsoever."

"Seems like it's holding up."

"It is _now_. Won't be later."

"You done the math?"

"…Yes."

Vexed though she might be for her foiled plans, she can't help but laugh at his sheepish grin. "I'll take your word for it, then. Pity, though," she says, and leans forward to close the distance.

Kisuke mutters a low, "Mmm, I know," before her lips capture his, and any disappointment quickly vanishes as she grows soft and pliable in his arms, her thoughts straying to the less adventurous, but perfectly acceptable double bed awaiting indoors.

Drawing away from the kiss, she lingers close, her nose nearly touching his as she trails a finger across his forehead before coming to a sudden halt, snorting. "You have a _tan line_."

"A _tan—_ _Where_?"

In response, she pulls up the string of his eye-patch and laughs.

"Oh, good grief," Kisuke mutters, gently prying her hand away.

"You might want to take that off for the rest of the trip, even your tan out," she says, and her suggestion is met with a hesitant, uncertain grin. "Oh, are we worried about disappointing our _fangirl_?"

"Our _what,_ now?"

"You _know_ who I'm talking about," Yoruichi says, fingers digging into his pecs ever so slightly. "The little redhead one bungalow over who keeps _accidentally_ sending her ball straight to our part of the beach."

Kisuke's expression shifts into one of recognition. "Ohhh, you mean—"

" _Ooopsie_ , we 'av to stop meeting like zis," Yoruichi drawls in what she thinks is a good imitation of the girl's accent, then adds the finishing touch to her impression with a mocking, shrill peal of laughter.

He's doing a very good job of feigning innocence, even though they both know she doesn't _really_ have anything to be jealous about. Still, the situation is annoying enough to merit a mention, and he has the decency to blush as he grins and stammers, "The uhh…"

"French, she's _French_. You _know_ she's French."

"Hadn't noticed," he says with a lax grin, palms stroking her back.

"Mmmm-hm. She seems to like your eye-patch."

"Well, it's a _very_ nice eye-patch. Excellent craftsmanship—"

"Uh-huh, yeah," Yoruichi cuts him off. "I'm just saying—"

"YORUICHI-SAAAAAAAAN?"

Shoulders tensing up, Yoruichi tracks the sound of the voice all the way down to the beach, where Ururu –and her impeccable timing- is undoubtedly waiting. "Shhhh! Don't say anything," she whispers at Kisuke, pressing one hand against his mouth and laying still. "She might go away on her own."

"YOOORUICHI-SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN?"

With a muffled expletive, Yoruichi bumps her head against Kisuke's chest, mentally cursing herself for not refusing to join them from the get-go.

A soft, low rumble of laughter bubbles out of Kisuke's throat. "Guess we're going kayaking."

"Noooo, come on, let's just blow it off," Yoruichi says, springing upright to meet his eye. "They won't care."

The look he gives makes it plain that they both know that's not true.

"Well, _I_ don't care, I want to stay here."

Kisuke smiles at the deeply etched scowl and pout on her face, then proceeds to make matters worse by running his palms along her thighs. "Mmm, and what do we say we'll be doing instead, when we're inevitably questioned?"

"She's _fourteen_. She _knows_ we're having sex, big deal."

"Does Yūshirō-san?"

Once again, the prospect of having to explain the facts of life to her little brother looms in the distance, and Yoruichi is left weighing the pros and cons in her head. Intellectually, she knows the momentary satisfaction isn't worth the excruciatingly uncomfortable conversation later, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to think rationally at the tail-end of a long, unintended dry spell.

Still, she can't help but feel Kisuke seems a little _too_ eager to join them. Even more worryingly, she catches herself reasoning that Yūshirō's time in the human world is limited enough as it is, so a bit of a personal sacrifice for a few more days won't kill her.

Gritting her teeth, she jabs a finger down Kisuke's chest, hard: "This vacation _sucks_ ," she growls, before dismounting him with a huff. He's gracious enough not to mention that the whole thing was _her_ idea. "Come on, then."

Kisuke doesn't get up, but shifts a little in his seat uncomfortably. "I'll… be with you in a minute."

"You _know_ Ururu is going to barge up here if you take too long, right?"

"Yes, I am aware," he says with a pained grimace. "And I'm asking you to _please_ distract her for a bit. I'm having a somewhat _visible_ problem at the moment."

Arching an eyebrow, Yoruichi's gaze zeroes in on his canvas shorts, where the problem in question turns out to be very visible, indeed.

Snorting, she glances down toward the beach quickly to make sure Ururu is still put, before she turns back to hiss at him, "Get rid of it!"

"I'm _trying_. It takes a bit of concentration, I'm afraid."

As much as she feels for him at this moment, she can't help but derive a bit of savage glee from his discomfort, since he's the one who insisted they end a perfectly promising make-out session. "What are you thinking about?"

"It's more about what I'm trying _not_ to think about."

"And that would be...?"

"The French girl."

The joke might've gone down better if she wasn't dealing with over a few months' worth of mounting frustration. Still, she's quite proud of herself for the relative restraint when she flips the hammock and sends Kisuke tumbling onto the deck with a thud.

.

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.

 ** _JULY 5TH, 2003 A.D., KOH JUM RESORT BEACH, KRABI, THAILAND_**

.

As her leg dangles off the side of the long chair, Yoruichi dips a toe into the sand, sighing. There are few things more relaxing in life than enjoying the warm sun, cold drink in hand, even with the background ambience of a volleyball being smacked around.

The brown-tinted scenery turns brighter as she glances over the rim of her sunglasses, frowning. "How is that thing still in one piece?" she mutters, upon witnessing Ururu land a spike that would've reduced any mortal man's receiving arms to mush. Yūshirō catches it in the nick of time with a quick dive, then scrambles back up on his feet before she can counter.

"It's a… special ball," Kisuke says, toying with the swirling straw of his drink between his teeth. And that is the extent of the information he deigns to share, setting his –now empty- glass down on the wooden stand.

"It doesn't explode after a hundred hits or something, does it?"

"I'm hurt; how could you attribute such shoddy craftsmanship to my work?" Kisuke rolls his head to the side on the backrest of his chair, a lazy grin spreading on his lips. "It's _obviously_ three hundred," he says, pushing the rim of his striped hat farther up his forehead.

He's still wearing the damn thing even under the thick canopy of the trees that pepper the beach, long, curved trunks nearly parallel to the ground, spreading their dainty leaves above them like a vibrant cluster of scales.

"I've seen fictional _vampires_ who dared get closer to the sun than you will," she drawls at him, nudging his chair with her foot. "You already got some color; move your chair out of the shade, it won't kill you."

" _Actually_ , it just might," he slurs, holding up one finger and pausing, his eye screwed up into an expression reminiscent of the one he assumes when dealing with particularly complicated math. "But… I don't remember why."

Cocking one eyebrow, Yoruichi reaches for his glass and takes a careful sniff at the dregs of yellow liquid lingering at the bottom. "Ugh, what's _in_ that thing, petrol?" she says, jerking away at the pungent smell of strong alcohol.

"Limes, tequila, vodka… and happiness," Kisuke says with a grin, letting his hat drop down to his nose.

"Are you drunk?"

"Mmmmmm, nahhh. Just… content."

"Too bad," she says, genuinely disappointed. "I like drunk Kisuke." Though perhaps not the best company for children, his drunk version makes for an excellent conversationalist. Especially once the alcohol loosens up his notoriously polite tongue and the colourful expletives start rolling out.

Kisuke cracks his eye open under the hat, grey iris glistening playfully below the brim. "As opposed to regular Kis'ke?"

"Well's he's a damn sight better than _needy_ Kisuke who's always fishing for compliments."

"Point taken," he says, chuckling.

Yoruichi shoots him a grin, deciding to let him enjoy the buzz on peace while she busies herself with her lime zing. As she becomes absorbed in Ururu and Yūshirō's game, she absently dips one hand into her beach bag, rummaging around.

The sudden crinkle of plastic yanks Kisuke out of his soft slumber faster than a cold shower would have. Sitting upright in a rush, he pushes his hat back to gape at her. "You brought _snacks_?"

She doesn't need to ask why he looks so worried; the momentary look over his shoulder to check whether the coast above is clear tells her everything she needs to know. "'Course I did," Yoruichi says, tearing the snack bag open. "I'm not going to stop eating just because you're afraid of monkeys."

Whether it's the heat, embarrassment, or a bit of both, his cheeks flush at her words. "I'm not _afraid_ of them, they're a _scourge_."

"A _scourge_?" she says with a loud guffaw, his visible distress nothing short of entertaining. Not to mention endearing.

"The one in Phuket nearly tore my arm off!"

"I _told_ you not to open up the treats in the middle of the square; you didn't listen."

It wouldn't have been half as funny if he hadn't taken it so _personally_ after the fact, irrationally upset that for the first time in his life, a small and fuzzy creature had not lived up to his expectations in terms of cuddliness.

Pouting, Kisuke flops back on the chair, arms crossed. The tension in his shoulders betrays his continued unease, his eye focused on the canopy and the occasional streak of brown that skitters among the leaves.

"And _that_ one tried to steal my hat," he says, pointing at the alleged furry offender.

" _That_ one? Really," Yoruichi says, plopping a morsel of Krong Krang into her awaiting mouth. One of the few sweet treats she actually finds herself craving every now and then, the fried, caramelized piece of dough crunches pleasantly between her teeth.

The smell and sound of the snack attracts the attention of the macaques, much like Kisuke feared, but a constant, invisible wave of reiatsu is more than enough to keep them at bay. She's dealt with animals, both aggressive and not, plenty of times in the past to know they won't dare approach closer, but teasing Kisuke is far too much fun; she won't be sharing that piece of info any time soon.

"Yes, _really_."

"Out of a group of practically _identical_ monkeys, you just _know_ that one tried to steal your hat."

"Well, yes, I put a reiatsu tag on him."

It's the way he says it, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, that makes her laugh heartily. "He's not trying to pull anything _now_."

"…yet."

"Ohhhhh, I see, so he's lulling you into complacency!"

With a half-hearted glare directed her way, Kisuke reaches out for his glass, apparently having forgotten he's already drained it. His disappointed pout serves as entertainment only for a short while, as Tessai and Jinta make their way across the beach at that moment, fresh off the sea.

Jinta drops his snorkelling gear and takes a seat next to her on the chair with a content sigh, before his eyes lock onto her snack bag.

"Yesssss, Krong Krang; I'm _famished_ ," he says, digging his hand wrist-deep into the proffered bag to grab a handful. "What are you guys up to?"

"Discussing the finer points of Kisuke's deep-seated fear of monkeys."

"I'M NOT _AFRAID_ , I JUST RESPECT THEIR SPACE."

Cleaning out his glasses with a dry towel, Tessai checks the lenses before he pushes the spectacles up his nose. "Perhaps we should relocate; somewhere farther down the beach where Tenchō might feel less threatened?"

Kisuke doesn't dignify this with a response, doing his best to ignore the cackling that Tessai's comment elicits.

"How did the snorkelling go?" Yoruichi says.

"Good," says Jinta. "Now that we didn't have cry-baby Ururu with us we could _actually_ go near the sea urch—"

Hit sentence is cut short when, out of nowhere, the volleyball comes sailing into her peripheral vision and smacks him on the back of the head with a loud _THUNK_.

All four pairs of eyes turn toward the shore, where Yūshirō can be seen hovering awkwardly next to Ururu, the flash of guilt and discomfort in his eyes betraying that he's trying to make up some sort of excuse.

Ururu, on the other hand, looks perfectly placid as she gives a gentle shrug and drawls, in monotone, "Oops."

It's the perfect recipe for an argument, or rather it _might_ have been, if the momentary surprise of the ball hurtling toward them hadn't caused Yoruichi to drop her guard. A few brave monkeys seize that opportunity to make their descent, and then everything descends into chaos:

In a dash to escape the incoming macaque, Jinta dives out of the way, knocking the tanning lotion onto the ground. Said tanning lotion, perhaps mistaken for something edible, finds itself in the hands of the second monkey, who starts squeezing out the plastic bottle with glee, coating his primate friend with a slick film of oil. Startled by an elated Yūshirō hurtling straight for them _–"MONKEYS! MONKEYYYYYYYS!"-_ the two macaques clearly decide that the chance of a free meal isn't worth the fuss and make a run for it, but not without claiming a few spoils of war.

Even inebriated, Kisuke is too fast for the monkey that makes a reach for his hat, but the oil-slicked thief slips right through his fingers, making his escape under a serenade of: "NONONONOOOO!"

A long, tense silence follows the aftermath of the monkey invasion, broken when Kisuke –after a spectacular belly flop onto the sand- lets out a defeated sigh.

Yoruichi has to make a valiant effort not to burst into laughter right then and there, choosing instead to join Tessai in checking the kids for any sign of monkey bites.

"Don't worry, Kisuke-san, I can get your hat back," Yūshirō says bracingly, and without preamble, he latches himself onto a tree trunk and begins climbing with an ease and agility that rivals that of the macaques.

"Yūshirō!" Yoruichi calls out in futility, groaning. " _Ugh_ , that kid and his climbing, I swear…"

Ururu's gaze joins Yoruichi's in traveling along the forest canopy with mild concern. "Yoruichi-san, what if Yūshirō-san gets bitten?"

"He's in a gigai, he'll be fine," she says. "Plus, I'm beginning to suspect he's half monkey already. And speaking of the hat, are we sure we… _want_ it back?" –Kisuke's snaps his head around in her direction- "You have, like… fifty replacements back home."

"What do you mean—?" he splutters, still lying flat on the sand. "Of _course_ we want it back—"

"The monkeys seem to like it," Yoruichi says with a grin.

Jinta lets out a snort. " _Someone_ was bound to, eventually."

"Wha—? People like my hat!" Kisuke exclaims, but when his conviction isn't met with agreement but rather half-hearted shrugs, he hurries to amend his statement. "Well… Hirako-san does."

" _No_ , Hirako bought you that damn hat and a million copies because he wanted to piss me off," Yoruichi says, recalling with perfect clarity the way Hirako had smirked at her across the table while Kisuke gushed over the lavish gift, alleged payback for a perfectly innocent past prank. "I say leave it to the monkeys. Yūshirō! Abort mission."

"I would leave him be for a while, Yoruichi-dono," says Tessai. "He looks like he's enjoying himself."

 _That… is an understatement,_ Yoruichi muses. Yūshirō seems more at home swinging from branch to branch than she's ever seen him, but she figures it's only a matter of time before he pisses off the monkeys in one way or another and gets himself scratched and bitten. And while it's true he's not in any real risk, Yoruichi doesn't think she can deal with _two_ cry-babies bummed over the fact that the monkeys don't seem to be taking a shine to them.

Kisuke seems to agree; glancing up toward the canopy as well, he rises up to his feet, brushing the sand off his belly. "Yes, well, it's all fun and games till someone loses an eye," he says.

His statement plunges them all into stunned silence. What few comments have been made on that delicate subject have been nothing but complimentary so far, always addressing the eye-patch rather than the injury itself. Though he's hidden it well, Yoruichi knows Kisuke has been facing the occasional issue with his reduced hand-eye coordination, and she's pretended not to notice the small outbursts of frustration that slip through the cracks.

Sensing the group's discomfort, Kisuke turns to regard them all, looking almost offended that they ever felt the need to tip-toe around him. " _Someone_ had to pave the way into the realm of ocular humor," he says.

A second bout of silence spreads among them, significantly shorter this time, pregnant with a different kind of tension that feels more like anticipation.

"So are we allowed to do that now?" Ururu says timidly, wringing her hands behind her back. "Because I've had my eye on a few good ones."

"Unacceptable, Ururu-dono! Rising to the occasion so quickly and callously. _You_ of all people: the apple of Tenchō's eye."

"Okay, okay, calm down, Tessai," Jinta says. "We don't want to fight amongst ourselves and turn this into an eye for an eye situation."

In a train of thought that would make Kisuke proud, Yoruichi considers the correlation between the crudeness of a pun and its reception, as the previously tense atmosphere fills with laughter. She's been holding on to a few choice puns herself, but she is too absorbed by the sight of Kisuke to pitch in: lips curled up into a dazzling smile, he laughs as she hasn't seen him laugh in a while, heartily and genuinely, no hint of artifice in his expression.

With a lingering smile in his direction, Yoruichi approaches the tree just as Yūshirō begins to climb down.

"Yūshirō?"

Bringing himself to a halt, he hugs the tree trunk and glances down at her. "Yes, nee-sama?"

"On second thought, go get that hat back, would you?"

.

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.

 ** _JULY 6TH, 2003 A.D., KOH JUM RESORT, KRABI, THAILAND_**

.

The harsh, fluorescent glare of the bathroom lamp would've made for particularly unforgiving lighting under the best of circumstances.

These are _not_ the best of circumstances.

Brow wrinkled, Kisuke runs a gentle finger along the pink lines that run the length of his cheeks. He didn't think it possible that he might come to detest the pointless activity of sunbathing any more than he already did, but the tan has only served to make the scar tissue even more prominent. He remembers an old saying about scars, of skin sown back together to grow back twice as strong.

And twice as stubborn, it seems.

He's never been particularly vain, the devout practitioner of a decidedly more hassle-free –and at times nonexistent if he's being entirely honest- grooming routine. It's only now occurring to him that this is a relative luxury, one afforded to him by his reasonably good looks.

 ** _Was_** _a relative luxury…_

The sigh has been bubbling up his chest for what feels minutes before it breaks his lips, and Kisuke tears his gaze away from the mirror, patting his freshly shaven jaw dry. On his way out, he pauses just long enough before the mirror to run a hand through his hair, and makes for the door.

Outside, he's greeted with the sight of Yoruichi standing in wait. She looks mildly surprised to find him leaving the bathroom; he can only assume Ururu is occupying the one in the master bedroom.

It's not often that they dress up for even a semi-formal occasion, but when he looks at her now, he makes a mental note to remedy that in the future.

She's clad in a black crop top that drapes over her shoulders gently and ends a little below the flare of her breasts. At the very base of her bare, defined abdomen, a long, brick-colored skirt hugs her hips and covers the entire length of her legs, leaving only a peek of flat leather sandals and brightly painted toes exposed. She's never been a big fan of jewellery, but today she wears set of slim, bronze bracelets around her wrist that only serve to highlight her tan. Her hair is undone, a waterfall of glossy black silk cascading down her back, and she smells nothing short of intoxicating.

Momentary surprise gone, Yoruichi arches an eyebrow as she takes him in from head to toe with mild interest, her eyes lingering on the forearms left exposed by his rolled up sleeves.

"You said anything _but_ a Hawaiian shirt," he says, gesturing at the plain, white linen shirt and jeans –the latter of which have seen better days, even though he scarcely recalls ever wearing them before. "That's all I have."

Head cocked to the side, Yoruichi's lips twitch up imperceptibly. "It'll do," she says, rummaging through her purse for a moment, before retrieving her phone and pointing it straight at him.

"Er, what are you—?"

"Immortalizing this," she says, and after the tell-tale snap of the camera, she immediately begins typing.

Walking around her, Kisuke comes to stand over her shoulder, glancing down at the screen. It seems she's sending a message to Hirako, including an attachment of the picture she's just taken. "…A wild Kisuke caught in a compromising—" He reads out loud, then rolls his eyes. "Funny."

He can feel the gentle flush on his cheeks as she presses _Send_ and smirks at him, slipping the phone back into her purse and trading it for her lipstick. "I thought the world should know I finally got you out of that jinbei," she says, swiftly applying a fresh coat of dusty red before the mirror. "Not that it's hard," she says once she's done, placing the cap back on the lipstick with a click. " _Usually_."

Her pointed tone might've looked more at home when paired with an equally pointed expression, but Yoruichi merely smirks at him, then makes a show out of brushing up against him side as she exits the small bathroom, her smirk ever-present.

Kisuke is left staring at her retreating form for quite some time, a disconcerting cocktail of guilt and arousal sloshing about his stomach.

This promises to be a long, _looong_ night.

.

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.

 ** _JULY 6TH, 2003 A.D., BAAN TING RAI VILLAGE, KOH JUM, THAILAND_**

.

He should know by now not to question Yoruichi's authority on any and all gastronomical matters. And yet even after five days of sampling nothing but Thai food, he continues to be impressed time and time again with the local cuisine, which Yoruichi has always declared to be her favorite.

Even after a spectacular, filing meal at a seaside restaurant, they aren't able to resist the allure of the ever-present street food carts. On the way back to the resort, they make a detour straight for the marketplace, if only to take a walk amid the tantalizing smells wafting off the grills and the sizzling sound permeating throughout the crowd's din. It is Yūshirō who spots the new addition first, a long line that ends before a cart where a skillful peddler makes and sells ice-cream rolls.

If for no reason other than the spectacle alone, the wait behind the long line has been worth it. They watched for a solid few minutes as the woman poured out the cream and assorted ingredients on a frozen plaque, continuously dicing and scooping up the quickly congealing mix with a vigorous clang of her twin spatulas, then patted it down into a thin sheet and scraped it out in neat, pretty little rolls which she plopped into a cup, adding the requested toppings.

Yoruichi had to put her foot down after Yūshirō ordered a fifth cup just to watch the peddler work her magic again –"Do it with strawberries this time!"

The ice-cream rolls turn out to be the perfect complement to the sweltering heat, keeping them reasonably cool, if a little sticky, during their walk. Kisuke is in the middle of appreciating the sight of Yoruichi licking her fingers clean, when a distraction arrives in the shape of Tessai.

"Tenchō, I will be taking the children back to the resort now."

The implication in his unspoken words is that they're free not to follow, if they so wish. In his peripheral vision, Kisuke sees Yoruichi's tongue linger over her lower lip just a touch longer, her eyes twinkling.

"You sure?" she says.

In response, Tessai gives a soft smile and a curt bow of his head. "Enjoy the rest of your evening. Goodnight."

"Night," Kisuke says, hands in his pockets, eye fixed on Tessai.

He watches as he approaches the children, then tries his best not to blush when all three turn to look at them, Jinta in particular wearing a very knowing smirk as he waves goodnight at them. Kisuke waves back, looking away from their prying gazes, his stomach tied up into an uncomfortable knot.

Under different circumstances, the brief respite from the children would be a more than welcome change in pace, but not tonight. His mind wanders back to his brief exchange with Yoruichi in the bathroom a few hours ago, then over to the barely contained anticipation in her eyes just moments ago, and the pressure to live up to whatever expectations she may have settles onto his chest like dead weight.

In all honesty, it is the possibility of being asked questions he has no answers for that worries him the most.

Yoruichi seeks his gaze, and it becomes impossible not to feel even a little flustered when faced with the subtle smirk that reaches all the way to her eyes. "So, um… drinks?" he says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "You can get one of those light, summer cocktails that barely even qualifies as alcohol."

Grinning, Yoruichi chucks the empty cup into a nearby bin. "Not gonna try to get me drunk, are we?"

"Well, if I do that," Kisuke says as they begin to amble through the busy street market. "You'll end up challenging the entire bar into an arm-wrestling match by the four-minute mark. Which… come to think of it, might not be a bad way to pay off our return tickets."

Her loud peal of laughter brings –as always- a broad smile on his face. Her fingers sweep over her cheek as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the colorful lights of the lanterns strewn above them reflected off the warm, coppery glow of her newly acquired tan. As her hand slinks back down, she catches him by surprise when she slips into his, threading their fingers together.

The gesture, small and simple thought it is, only serves to highlight a pattern he's noticed over the last few days. Generally averse to public displays of affection, Yoruichi guards her privacy with the ferocity of a dragon guarding its hoard. After a childhood and adolescence of having her every move and action constantly watched, analyzed and criticized, even the smallest, most innocent touches are something she reserves for when they were well and truly alone.

And yet for the duration of this vacation, she seems to have relaxed her self-imposed strict regulations, if only a little. She's made constant efforts to close the gap, even in brief, stolen moments, but he hasn't responded as he normally would have in the past.

 _Before_.

"Ohhh, _this_ is the place."

Her words and the gentle, insistent tug of her hand brings him out of his reverie. They've reached the very edge of the marketplace, leaving behind the colorful lanterns and the bustle of locals and tourists. Over by the seaside lays a small, sparsely populated, quite frankly dinky little beach bar.

Only two out of its seven tables are occupied, the patrons keeping low conversations under the old school pop blaring, full of static and crackle, through the ancient-looking speakers mounted on posts sitting at each corner. The bartender and the waitress, two bored-looking kids in their early twenties sit on opposite stools across the island counter that is mounted on a small wooden platform. Behind them, a display of various bottles glows pink under the harsh, neon sign which spells out what Kisuke can only assume was the bar's name in Thai.

"Eighties pop? _Really_?"

"Oh, are we going to pretend your little Michael Jackson obsession was a Thing that Never Happened?" And with that, she drags him forward, sandals crunching over the sand, to the table closest to the shore.

Her pleasant mood throughout the night becomes contagious. Between jokes about his _mild_ –he contests- interest in a certain pop singer's dance moves, and teasing at her inordinate enthusiasm over the tacky, swirly straw that comes with her drink, it is easy to disregard everything, even the uncomfortable wooden chairs, and focus on nothing but her.

From swirling the paper umbrella between her teeth, down to making the kind of joke that is only funny at 3:14am, while they're tipsy on mojitos and gin, half-sitting half-lying on the frayed, weather-beaten chairs, she is _entrancing_.

Watching her though half-lidded eyes, cheek pressed against his propped up fist, Kisuke teases a chip of peeling paint with his fingernail as he listens to her enumerate the ways in which Vietnamese cuisine differs from Thai, and oh, how he'd love Ha Long Bay and the fishermen who spend their entire lives adrift at sea, never setting foot ashore, and how she wants to do Vietnam Properly one day, which is to say on a bike, because really, that is the Only Way to appreciate the beauty of that country, and in that moment, he cannot for the life of him understand why he never damned it all to hell and joined her in traveling the world, never looking back.

It doesn't take long for him to be reminded why, but the fleeting fantasy is too beautiful to chase away with logic just yet.

He doesn't know if it's his –undoubtedly idiotic- grin or his intense scrutiny that does it –the curve of the bangs that frame her face, her slender fingers as she absently stirs the soup of half-molten ice cubes, limes, and rum with her straw- but it's not long before they leave the bar, making their way back to the resort along the quiet, deserted beach.

Yoruichi's eyes are drawn to the waning moon on the cloudless sky above. A balmy breeze makes her hair billow in gentle waves behind her back, almost in sync with the soothing wash of the sea licking the shore. And in a brief flash of her bare nape, he comes to realize just how much he's missed simply touching her, seeking out the curve of her shoulder, the flare of her hip, the play of the strong muscles on her back.

He cannot remember the last time they've spent even a moment alone. After travelling to Soul Society to see her family and train Yūshirō, she'd joined Hiyori's team in studying the rifts, reuniting with him for only a few scant moments before her journey to the Royal Realm. What little time they'd had together post war had been spent sleeping and recovering.

"Sorry this vacation isn't more…"

Yoruichi turns to him, a gentle smile on her lips. "Private?"

His hand snakes up to his nape, the definition of eloquence as he hums, "Mmmm."

"I was the one who suggested it, wasn't I?" she says, directing her gaze back to the black, calm sea. "It's okay. The kids were really looking forward to this, we couldn't just leave them behind."

The declaration makes his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe. Her relationship with Ururu and Jinta has been… spotty at best. He can tell she has grown fond of them, but she has always had trouble choosing a side between being a friend, an older-sister type, and a parental figure.

As though sensing his surprise, she counters it with an only mildly convincing look of feigned offense. "What, I'm not allowed to grow as a person?"

Smiling at her, Kisuke reaches out for her hand. "Thank you for making me do this."

" _Please_ ," she says, yanking her hand away playfully. "Like I haven't caught you typing away on your phone when you think no-one's watching." In mid-air, she makes an exaggerated imitation of him doing exactly that. "You've barely stopped thinking about work."

"I…" He hesitates, but there is no use denying this. "…try not to. Doesn't always work."

"I know," Yoruichi says, and this time, she reaches out for his hand. "It's one of your better qualities."

As she brushes her thumb over his skin, he is gripped with the sudden need to apologize for being so distant, to try and make her understand that he would gladly forgo rest indefinitely, because the mere thought of failing her, and Tessai, and the children, is sheer torture. He wants to tell her that the nightmares of the consequences of failure still haunt him and most likely will forever, but he doesn't have the words to tell her any of this, and instead goes for something more familiar.

"Could I possibly be on the verge of hearing a list of my _other_ good qualities?" he quips, and it makes her laugh, and really, this is all he's ever wanted: to hear her laugh.

"You should be so lucky, Urahara Kisuke."

"Oh, I _am_ ," he says, grinning. "I'm healthy; I'm happy; fairly intelligent—"

" _Fairly_ , he says. The humility!"

"—I am my own boss; I have good friends: Tessai-san, Hirako-san, Hiyori-san; the kids…" He pauses. "And you."

"And me," she repeats with a grin, in a tone that clearly calls for him to elaborate.

Which he does.

"Most beautiful woman I've ever known, and that's the _least_ impressive thing about you. I'd say that makes me just about the luckiest man in the world."

Yoruichi holds his gaze for only a moment, her bare midriff visibly contracting as her expression slips from amusement to fluster, her lips parting. True to form, she looks away before her eyes betray _too_ much, but she doesn't let go of his hand. If anything, her grip tightens. "Not to mention the corniest," she mutters, her lips ever so slightly upturned.

His ability to occasionally render her silent and blushing is one he takes great pride in, and it makes for a visual he's certain he'll never tire of. "That, too, I suppose," he says, chuckling.

Her amber gaze seeks out his again out of the corner of her eye, the previously faint grin becoming more pronounced. "Impressive, huh?"

"Quite. Appalling taste in men notwithstanding."

His words don't have the expected effect: instead of taking advantage of the opening to tease him back, Yoruichi drops her gaze again, her expression shifting from a grin into a soft, understated, and achingly beautiful smile. "Don't insult my taste," she says quietly.

And before he has time to issue a humorous apology, she's launched herself into his arms, with a ferocity that knocks him away both figuratively and literally.

Staggering backwards, heels digging into the sand, his hands land awkwardly on her back, as unsure as if he were a blushing teenager. The kiss can only really be compared to one of the first few they ever shared, a ravenous, passionate lock of lips that only seems to prolong the hunger behind it instead of satiating it. Her fingers clasp his jaw tightly, and a low, unrestrained moan ekes out of his throat, reverberating in their joined mouths.

If the alcohol hadn't already shaved a few layers off his misgivings, her kiss would have had the identical effect. As it stands, it lowers his inhibitions to near non-existence, but he clings on to a few feeble, tenuous strands of logic even as they tumble down onto the sand. Yoruichi's lips latch onto a soft spot beneath his jaw and Kisuke's head rolls back, the faint, hazy lights in the distance swimming into his vision. They're only a short walk away from the resort, and though the stretch of the beach they're occupying is currently deserted, there's still the possibility, however remote, that they might be seen.

He's about to voice his reservations as he sits up, lifting her along with him, when his palms paw at her smooth back beneath her top, meeting no resistance. His train of thought stalls, fingers embarking into an exploration for her bra clasp, but Yoruichi smirks, hands threaded into his hair.

"Nothing there," she breathes against his lips, and her voice, low and warm and silken, melts away any last vestiges of reason, wiping his mind blissfully blank.

Dipping his head low, he breathes out a curse into her neck and his hands move to the front out of their own accord, grasping, kneading, and when her fingernails dig into his scalp, he tugs the offending garment up and replaces his hands with his mouth. Yoruichi moans, her hips jerking against his in reflex, and he can feel the sheer _heat_ of her even through the thick, constricting layer of denim. Her long skirt pools around them like a sea of red, and Kisuke hikes it up even further past her thighs, greedy fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips.

He doesn't know if he drives her movement or if she leans into the touch first, but it matters little in the face of the delicious friction they build together as her pelvis grinds against his, hard and slow and agonizing in the way it makes him strain against his jeans.

Her hands roam and tug and her lips are _everywhere_ , on his throat, the shell of his ear, his lips, her teeth skimming his skin in razor sharp strokes of sensation. He hears the sound before he feels the pressure, a soft clink of metal when she undoes his belt and nimbly unbuttons his jeans, her mouth never leaving his.

His good sense, an entity he could've sworn had fled the premises the second she had thrown herself at him, makes a timid return. This long bout of unintended –but necessary- celibacy all but ensures that if they keep progressing at this pace, the long-awaited end of said celibacy is bound to come about far quicker than either of them wants.

Breaking the kiss, Kisuke stills her hands with a gentle grip. "Yoruichi—"

"It's okay," she says, and persists in her ministrations, peppering his cheek with soft, wet kisses that seek to alleviate his worries.

"But why the rush?"

She makes an irritated noise in the back of her throat. "Because if we don't do this _now_ , Yūshirō is going to pop out of a bush and try to drag me off for mountain-climbing, or Ururu is going to lose a shoe and I _just_ —"

Kisuke chuckles against her mouth, but his laughter soon peters out into a sharp, choking sound when she dips her hand beneath the waistband of his underwear.

Any further thoughts of putting an end to this evaporate with every stroke of her warm, firm hand, and Kisuke reaches down to tug at her panties, a move in which she keenly assists. There are few people in the world with dexterity that rivals hers, and his, if he's being somewhat immodest, and yet they are soon reduced to a tangle of limbs, desire and impatience sabotaging their usual grace.

Driven by the insistent, almost painful pulse of his erection against his belly, Kisuke decides this has gone on long enough, and wraps one arm around Yoruichi's waist, lowering her down onto the bed of sand. Her nails graze sharply against his skin as they both reach down simultaneously to rid her of her underwear, and Yoruichi pulls away first, lifting her hips up to help him tug it down. There's a distant tear, and she completes the vexing task on her own, twisting her hips and kicking the garment away, until she's free to hook a leg around his waist.

It's impossible to tell if he moves first or if she pulls him in, but suddenly he is _there_ with a snap of his hips, filling her with solid, hard heat, that makes her arch against him, smothering her cry as she bites down on her lip. Moonlight swims on her face, bathing her with a silvery glow that brings out the gold in her eyes, and he loses himself as he buries his nose in the sweet-smelling, silken ocean of pitch black that is her hair.

One hand clutching at his shoulder, she slips the other one down, past the play of muscles on his abdomen and over to where they're joined, and he wants to take his time, truly, but the pressure of her leg against his backside as she spurs him on in time with his thrusts, the whisper of breath in his ear is more than he can handle and he loses any semblance of control.

What little awareness he's capable of outside of the immediate need to keep on driving into her rejoices when she reaches her peak first. She spasms and she tightens and she falls apart all at once beneath him, the sharp sting of her fingernails along his neck negligible, and it's not long before he follows, frissons of pleasure rippling throughout his body in a constant stream. His hips buck against her, once, twice, her legs still quivering around his thighs as his own body stiffens, then his release leaves him panting, soft and lax and malleable on top of her, face buried into the crook of her damp, feverish neck.

Chest rising and falling beneath him, Yoruichi gulps in the balmy air by the lungful, lazy fingers combing through his hair. His own sluggish mental capacities take a long while to return to anything resembling proper function, and with cognizance comes a hefty dose of embarrassment.

Though it felt longer, his gut tells him he can't have lasted more than a couple of minutes, and the only thing that keeps the feeling from turning into full-blown humiliation is the fact that he did manage to hold on long enough to bring her to a climax.

"Well…" he mutters into her neck. "That was… quick."

Self-deprecation has always been his go-to defense mechanism, and thankfully, Yoruichi is amused by it.

Pushing him back gently until he's facing her, she sweeps the wet locks away from his forehead, grinning. "Which could've easily been avoided if you'd taken care of things earlier today." He arches an eyebrow in response, and she clarifies. "The Kisuke I know would've locked that door and had me up against the wall of the bathroom the moment I walked in."

He knows she's not being _entirely_ serious, but her words are carefully picked all the same. And as he turns to lay a soft kiss on her hand, he is thankful, so very thankful, that she chose to frame her argument in such light-hearted manner, that she didn't force an uncomfortable confession out of him.

In time, he hopes that when she extends her arm toward the man she once fell in love with, he will find the courage to step out from beneath the smoking remains of his former self and join her once more, whole and fit and mended, the kind of man she deserves.

.

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.

 ** _JULY 7TH, 2003 A.D., KOH JUM RESORT, KRABI, THAILAND_**

.

She has never felt more like a teenager than when he's stealing one last, breathless kiss before they have to walk in through the door, shoes in hand, shushing each other and ending up making even more noise.

The dimmed lights should've been a clue, but it's not until she steps into the master bedroom, only to find it empty, that she makes a sharp turn back into the living room and almost collides with Kisuke at the threshold. He's wearing the exact same expression she is: elated disbelief.

"Ururu's not here," Yoruichi says, the grin a hair's breadth away from breaking out on her lips.

"She's rooming with Yūshirō," Kisuke says, thumb pointing behind him. "And Jinta with Tessai."

In unison, they turn to stare at the bed behind her, and she knows they're both saying a silent thank you – or ten- to Tessai right now. The second their eyes meet again, Yoruichi yanks him forward by the lapel and shuts the door behind him just as he loops his arm around her waist.

Her feet leave the floor, and she is weightless only for a moment before they've tumbled onto the mattress with a bounce that elicits a giggle out of her. One he quickly silences by covering her mouth with his. She can feel his smile in the kiss they share, sloppy and playful and all nipping teeth.

Her body is still humming in the aftermath of their earlier union, which, lovely though it was, hasn't even begun to put a dent in the accrued frustration of the last few months. But if the night progresses as she hopes it does, it would make for a decent start.

As her heels dig into Kisuke's thighs, he pushes her skirt all the way up to her hips with one gently sweeping hand, but his caress comes to a halt at the apex of her thigh and so does the kiss. Blinking, he shimmies lower until his top half disappears under the skirt, but the promising turn of events doesn't unfold the way she expects it to.

"Um. Didn't you have underwear on? Before?" he says, his muffled voice coming straight out of the bump that sticks out between her legs.

The immediate response is, "I _do_ ," but even as she says this, his warm puff of breath hits her right at the juncture of her legs without encountering any barriers, and she realizes it's not true. At least not anymore.

Kisuke pops his head out from under the skirt, his hair mussed up. He is visibly stifling back laughter, and when the implications of her missing underwear hit her, she joins him with a snort she smothers behind the back of her hand.

Kisuke collapses against her, his mouth pressing kisses on her exposed belly in between chortles. "I'll… head out there first thing in the morning," he says, but they both know it's a hollow promise; it'll be a miracle if they wake up before noon.

Still, she plays along. "You'd better! I _like_ those panties."

Kissing his way up the seam of flesh than runs down her midsection, he comes to a brief pause right above her mouth. "I like them, too," he says with a grin, his voice dropping down a register, a deep rumble that sets off a pulse between her legs.

Smiling back, Yoruichi reaches out for him just as he extends his arm above her head. Whatever he was about to do, it is immediately forgotten when she pulls him down and into a renewed kiss that loosens the kinks out of his tense shoulders. Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, Kisuke sweeps his palm along her cheek until it locks onto the hinge of her jaw, the ministrations of his tongue loosening her spine as though he's coaxing a curve out of a bowstring. His hand begins to grow restless, and Yoruichi eagerly leans into the touch of his wandering fingers when they slip under her top.

Normally, he enjoys taking his time, both out of personal preference and an impish desire to test the limits of her well-established impatient nature. But after their previous coupling, he, too, seems to be equally eager to dispense with prolonged foreplay. His hand snakes down to slip under the waistline of her skirt, and in the spirit of moving things along, she lifts her pelvis up and helps kick the skirt away when he yanks it down past her hips.

Already slick and sensitive from earlier on, she rocks her hips along the movement of his fingers while he teases her folds with a deft touch honed over the course of centuries. Long before they became lovers, they had spent years learning to read each other's every cue and expression with impeccable accuracy, developing a rich network of knowledge which translated into an added layer of intimacy from the moment they first fell into bed together. He knows her in a way that is impossible to put into words, in ways that allow her to be free, well and truly rid of hang-ups when she's with him.

His mouth dips down to meet the crown of her breast before she's even begun to arch up, his calloused, sure hand changes course before the tilt of her hips guides him along.

As her hands grasp at his back, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, she decides that he is far too overdressed for the occasion, and even though it means putting a pause on his delectable work, she tugs the hem of his shirt up until it falls in a soft puddle of the floor.

Her hands traverse the breadth of his chest, coming up to settle against his jawline, and she buries her nose into his hair until her teeth graze his earlobe, rendering him a motionless, whimpering mess. It's one of his more sensitive spots, and she takes great delight in using it to her advantage, whenever she feels like turning the tables and taking charge.

Tightening her thighs around his hips, she rolls them over on the mattress until he's flat on his back. She moves fluidly into kissing a trail down along his neck, her lips brushing over the few, fine hairs on his chest. And as she moves lower, she feels his muscles jump beneath her kisses in anticipation, his torso arched up gently when her fingertips skim his sides.

With a series of snaps, the buttons of his jeans are undone, and she meets his gaze, fingers digging under the waistline. Chest rising and falling in a deliberately measured pace, the grey of his irises is almost consumed by black as he stares back at her beneath the damp curtain of his fringe. When his tongue slips out to wet his parched, parted lips, she smirks at him and pulls his jeans and underwear down, her mouth descending to lay a feather-light kiss right above the dark blond thatch of hair that sits beneath his belly.

His pelvis jerks up just a fraction, and once she settles on her knees between his parted legs, she keeps her hands firmly on his hips, laying soft, sometimes open-mouthed kisses on his hipbones, his thighs, anywhere but where he truly wants her right now.

Her teasing has him growing visibly harder, but it's not until he is well and truly in agony, the tip of his cock glistening, that she grasps him in her hand and laves the underside of his shaft in a long, slow, upward lick. Kisuke curses softly under his breath, fingers contracting on the sheets as his head rolls back, but he recovers quickly, watching her as she tilts her head to the side to sweep her hair out of the way and wraps her lips around the head.

The first time she plunges down, cheeks hollowed out, taking him in inch by inch, he grows even stiffer and vents out his feelings by driving the heel of his hand into the mattress, hard. It doesn't take long to reduce him to incoherence, teasing the ridge of the head with her tongue, taking in the length of him slowly again and again, until her hand glides smoothly along his slick shaft, complementing the movement of her mouth.

His entire torso undulates in sync with his panting, back arching and falling, and from the way his legs squirm around her, she can tell he's dying to start moving his hips. His hand is threaded into her hair almost tentatively, and when their eyes meet, she decides to end the torture and gives him all the permission he needs with one look.

Swallowing hard, Kisuke brushes a thumb against her temple then forks her hair back, gathering it up with both hands. His movements start out slow, more for her sake than his, giving her the time to relax and breathe as he slips in deeper. Little by little, he increases the pace, every thrust that brushes the back of her throat punctuated with a low moan.

She always enjoys watching him at this stage, as well as her vantage point allows her to, taking pride in the way his chest flushes, the way his neck grows corded, the way his sinewy forearms lock up and tighten while he's gripping her face.

When she places one hand against his hipbone, he knows she needs a break, and his fast rhythm stutters back into a controlled, leisurely pace until he withdraws completely, his hands on her face growing gentler. Breathless, he sweeps the errant bangs past her forehead and she grips his cock in hand once more, lavishing it with a few final, slow licks.

Swiping her thumb across her mouth, Yoruichi pushes herself up to straddle him. Kisuke's hands greet the shift in position with a firm caress of her thighs, and his eye flits down to his pelvis where she is stroking his length playfully with her cunt, just long enough to watch him sink his teeth into his lower lip. Grinning, she crosses her arms before her to grasp the hem of her top and pulls it off, the bracelets looped around her wrist clinking along with the motion.

He makes no move to turn the tables on her, merely grins back, fingers plunging into the globes of her backside once, before he reaches out toward the nightstand.

"What are you doing?"

He tries to make it look innocuous, but even if she hadn't spotted the momentary tension in his shoulders, the fact that he's _never_ before done this would be proof enough. "Just getting the light—"

"No." The word slips out instinctively, even before the half-formed theory begins to take shape in her mind. Something about the movement bothers her, though she cannot articulate what or why, until realizes that he also tried to turn the light off earlier on, before she'd distracted him with a kiss.

Kisuke takes this in stride, letting out a chuckle and giving her the kind of look he reserves for when she's being particularly obstinate. It would've been a nice enough piece of acting if she wasn't already suspecting she knows _exactly_ what this is about. "Oh, come on…" he says, giving her thighs another gentle rub and bestowing her with the kind of soft, lopsided grin he considers particularly winning. And usually _is,_ damn him, but not at the moment _._ "It's been a pretty romantic night so far, hasn't it? What's wrong with some mood lighting?"

 _Mood lighting, **my ass**._

It's been bothering her for days now, the way he will casually slip away from situations that might lead to intimacy instead of seeking them out, as he would have done any other time. And right now, when the easy excuse of the kids demanding their attention no longer applies, she finally understands why:

He's still self-conscious about his scars.

Her heart contracts at the thought, and though her stance remains firm, she tries to inject her voice with as much softness as she can to help him feel at ease. "Nothing wrong with it. But I want to be able to see you."

"Yoruichi—"

To further illustrate her point, she lowers herself down to trace the scar that runs up his neck with her lips, but he grows stiff under her kisses.

"You don't have to—"

"I _want_ to," she says, very ostentatiously transferring her lips over to his hand, and to the white, vein-like lines that streak his skin.

He is gentle but firm when he pushes her away, sitting up on the bed, looking as though he's one step away from running. "Don't… please…"

" _Hey_." Grasping his chin, Yoruichi forces him to look at her, abandoning all manner of subtlety. "This isn't pity. When I say I don't care about any of this, I'm not being _charitable_ , I'm being honest," she says. "You want to talk scars? 'Cause I've got plenty. And so do you. How is this any different? Because it's your face?" she says, shifting her hand to brush away his hair, her thumb tracing the puckered line that runs beneath his eye.

His expression is inscrutable, a strange mixture of disbelief and affection and something else, but he doesn't shy away from her touch this time, though he doesn't relax into it either.

"Because it's your eye?" she asks softly.

She has always loved his eyes, and he's well aware. She's made no secret of it, in those moments when she stares deep into the slate grey irises, fascinated by the innumerable ways in which he speaks to her through his eyes alone: the way they glisten like silver when he's excited, the way they turn cloudy when he's somber, the way they darken with desire when he looks at her.

Nuances that an artificial eye will never be able to capture, not even one crafted by his talented hand.

And she couldn't care less if she tried.

Shifting forward along his lap, Yoruichi brings her other hand up to cradle his face. "I don't care, Tessai doesn't care, and the kids don't, either," she says, her voice no more than a soft murmur. "Does it look like I want you any less?"

He meets her soft smile with one of his own, tremulous and unsure though it is.

And when she leans closer in an attempt to kiss the markings on his face, he visibly holds his breath as she whispers, "Let me. Please," and shuts his eye, his arms tightening around her waist.

His muscles jump ever-so-slightly beneath her lips. Every kiss becomes a gentle, reassuring caress that smoothens the wrinkles in his crumpled confidence one by one, until the new, unexplored parts of him grow familiar to the touch the rest of his body knows so well.

Forehead resting against his, she cups his face in her hands. "Every time I look at you, at _these_ , I see the man who willingly sacrificed a part of himself to ensure he could give no less than his all," she says, and the cool grey of his iris grows warmer: _Affection, love_. "Don't you _dare_ hide that from me ever again. I want to see it. I want to remember it. Always."

His jaw quivers beneath her palm in a swell of emotion, a hand tracing the dip of her spine until it comes to a rest at her nape, pulling her in. She kisses him back, slowly, languidly, and he sighs into her mouth, as if he's drawing courage and comfort from their joined lips.

His body grows taut under her touch once more, firm and hard in ways that have nothing to do with discomfort, a renewed sense of urgency driving their touches. His voice is low and deep as he issues a request, breath hot against her ear, and it sounds more like a plea to which she can only respond with a keen nod, because she's already shifting even before his hands hoist her up gently by the waist, and when she brings her hips down, they cry out in unison.

They're in _his_ territory now, the leisurely, protracted kind of love-making she pretends doesn't affect her half as much as it does. But she's certain he knows what it does to her, when he's whispering sweet, barely intelligible nonsense into her ear that she somehow understands perfectly, when his hands fill the dips and trace the curves of her body reverently, when his hips roll into hers _just so,_ in a pace that is maddeningly slow and coaxes a fire out of the dormant embers in her belly bit by bit. And when he's not running his tongue over the crown of a breast, or gently sucking at the base of her throat, he is watching her, with the kind of soft gaze that make her knees grow weak and her toes curl as she locks her ankles behind his waist.

It's far too warm a night to be held so close, so tightly, but neither of them seems to care as they work up a sweat, and she can feel the damp locks of his hair against her forehead, she can count every pale eyelash when he's close enough that his nose brushes against hers.

But once they've had their fill of slow, once the gentle rocking of their hips starts to feel like they're running in place, chasing after something just out of reach, Kisuke pulls back, the soft light reflected off his glistening chest. With a sharp, dizzying twist he shifts their position, gripping her waist in a one-armed loop, and lays her down on the mattress.

The movement momentarily breaks their union, and she can only protest when he doesn't seek to remedy this at once, but instead hooks one hand under her knee. Her complaints don't last long, however, as he begins to lay a trail of kisses from her lower thigh to her heel, bringing her ankle up to rest on his shoulder.

Her abdomen tightens in anticipation; if she wasn't wary of sending him back into a downward spiral of self-consciousness, she might've said something about how devastatingly sexy he looks as damp tendrils of his hair hang over his eye-patch and he gives her a scorching look full of promise for what's to follow. Grasping her thighs, he plunges back into her smoothly, the brush of his pelvis against her apex making her breath hitch in her throat.

With every thrust, his abs relax and tighten in succession, and she squirms, clutching helplessly at the pillows, gathering fistfuls. Her lower back arches up, the sheet clinging to her, nails clawing at his taut thigh and his knee, the only parts of him she can reach. Her wordless message is clear, and when Kisuke grants her request by lowering himself down to kiss her, hard, she thinks she might pass out from the heat and the stifling, humid air, and the relentless clap of their hips.

And just as she thinks she can't take any more, Kisuke comes to a grinding halt. Yoruichi is too breathless to do anything other than whimper in frustration, but when he dips his head down to whisper into her ear, his words set off a flutter in the pit of her stomach. She follows his request at once, wrapping her arms around his neck, while he slips his hands down beneath her hips and pulls her up.

A rush of cool air washes over her back, the sudden upright swing making her vision swim. They're still moving, and she tightens her grip around him, her knees hooking over his elbows as he holds her up. His intent becomes clear barely a second before it happens, and Yoruichi releases one hand to brace against the wall when he slams her back into the padded headboard.

Buried to the hilt inside her, knees digging into the mattress, he smothers his moan into her neck, but all she can do is roll her head back against the wall, her cry piercing the silent night. Not losing a beat, he quickly builds up to the hard, almost punishing rhythm they'd established moments ago. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she is thankful for the soft headboard he keeps pushing her up against with every jerk of his hips, but she suspects she wouldn't have cared either way by this point.

Bringing her other arm back down, she plunges her fingers into the damp hair of his nape as his lips clamp over the pulse point at the base of her throat. She thinks she may have cried out his name, once, twice, maybe a hundred times; it's becoming increasingly harder to concentrate on anything but holding on for dear life while he kisses every inch of her he can reach, while his fingers dig into her ass, while the pressure in her abdomen builds up to a plateau that is almost unbearable.

They've been parted more than once in the past, long enough for her to be intimately familiar with what a fervent reunion feels like, but there is something deeper there, almost primordial. Something has awakened within her, a feeling that is both foreign and familiar, as though it has always been a part of her, buried deep into the farthest, most remote corners of her Self. She can feel the shift in him, too, and their eyes lock while they breathe the same, sweltering air, desire and love and a question written in his eyes, etched deep into the crease on his brow.

They lose any and all semblance of rhythm as leans into her, and she can feel every single one of his tight, rigid abs against her belly as they move together, slick and near the point of no return, never breaking eye contact.

And then she feels it, all the way down to her bones, when his entire body stiffens like a bowstring and his spiritual energy coils so tightly around hers she thinks they may have literally become one for a split moment. His stare, dark and scorching like molten iron, is the last thing she sees before her vision blanks out into white, her arms and her legs and her whole being tightening around him as she loses sight of where he ends and where she begins.

At some point during the final throes, his lips find hers and even though she's been struggling for air, she meets his slanted mouth readily, fingernails sinking into his scalp, every wave of pleasure that washes over her punctuated by a sharp moan, his or hers, she no longer knows.

When she has gained some measure of grasp on reality again, she finds herself with her back against the mattress, cradling Kisuke's face onto her breast. Her legs, heavy and having adopted the consistency of jelly, lay crossed behind his waist, and he is making an only perfunctory attempt to keep from crushing her as he struggles to catch his breath. She doesn't mind; she enjoys the solid feel of his weight on top of her, even in this heat, which the contact of their warm, sticky bodies doesn't make any more bearable.

"You made an off-hand comment about a wall," he says in between pants. "Thought I'd oblige."

It starts out deep into her belly, comes roaring up her throat, and then she's laughing harder than she ever has.

.

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' `-' `.-' `-' `-' `-' `-.' `-' `

.

 ** _JULY 7TH, 2003 A.D., KOH JUM RESORT, KRABI, THAILAND_**

.

"Seventeen."

"Hmmm?"

"I can think of seventeen ways to make this hammock structurally sound. Just saying."

Chuckling, Yoruichi tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, readjusting herself. Head nestled against Kisuke's bare chest, she can hear the slow, steady beat of his heart, her fingers peeking out from the long sleeve of his white shirt to trace his side.

In between the fingers toying with her hair, the slight leftover buzz from their night out and the gentle swing of the hammock in the breeze, she's only moments away from falling asleep.

"You can still…?" she mutters with a grin, eyes glancing up at Kisuke. They've already made the most of their alone time, making up for the distance of the last few days and months in ways that make her spine tingle at the memory. Moving out to the balcony to catch the sunrise was his idea, in an effort to try for an all-nighter and stay awake, but Yoruichi knows she's fighting a losing battle.

"Sadly, no," Kisuke says with a sigh, folding his free arm behind his head. "Not as young as we used to be, are we?"

"Speak for yourself, old man."

He cocks a fine, blond eyebrow at that, feigning offense. "I am all of _five_ hours older than you."

"And don't you forget it," she says with a smirk, tightening her grip around his waist.

Kisuke plants a kiss at the top of her head, and she can only smile as she watches the darkness thin out, the still, glistening seabed coming into focus as the sky slowly discards the black and slips on its murky blue.

She's about to close her eyes again, when she feels Kisuke's torso shake beneath her cheek in smothered laughter. "What's on your mind?" she says.

"Your panties. Being carried away by the tide, forever lost to the sea." Spurred on by her laughter, Kisuke goes on, "Yūshirō discovering them while fishing, now traumatized—"

" _Enouuuugh_ —"

"Or even worse, the monkeys get to them first—"

She brings his hypothetical to a halt when she gives him the best version of her withering stare she can muster right now.

"Okay, okay, I'm done," he says.

"I mean, if Yūshirō wasn't already traumatized by Game Night Fridays…" Yoruichi says, thinking back to her brother's fascination with TVs and console gaming, as well as his utter shock upon witnessing his first display game of Mario Kart between the five of them. When Kisuke chuckles, she knows that he's recalling the very same memory. "But if he wants to be a part of this fam— of this… he's gotta learn our ways."

Kisuke makes no mention of her little slip-up, but she can see it being acknowledged in the way his gaze softens when he looks at her, in his beatific smile, in the way he gently sweeps her hair away from her face. "True."

"It's okay, right? If… if he visits? Every now and then?"

"It's fine by me. And it's your home, too, you don't have to ask." After a brief pause, he says, "He's a good fit. Tessai likes him, the kids like him."

In her mind's eye, Yoruichi pictures what his future visits might be like. She knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Yūshirō will only be too happy to return. And yet she can't help but wonder what it might feel like for him to come back, year after year, watching as his two newest friends outgrow him and move on to newer, different things.

Or what it might feel like for Ururu and Jinta. Or the rest of them.

"Mmm. It's just… sad," she says. "That they won't grow up together."

"I know."

"You ever think about that?" Yoruichi says, tilting her head back to look at Kisuke again. "About them…"

With a deep sigh that seems to echo from his very soul, Kisuke says, "All the time."

As she lies there, comfortably nestled in his arms, watching the sky turn paler, Yoruichi knows that they are thinking the same thing.

That it doesn't matter either way, not to them. They will look after Ururu and Jinta all the same, for as long as they need them to.

And in the twilight of consciousness, when staying awake became a futile struggle, she finds herself agreeing to words she'd casually dismissed before. As her eyes slip shut, the thought comes to her, fuzzy around the edges and only half-formed, but she knows it to be undeniable truth:

It's what a mother does, after all. She takes care of her family.

* * *

 **.**

* * *

 **A/N:** Remember, kids: _always_ use a Soul condom


End file.
